


What do I do with this?

by river_of_words



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Ginger - Freeform, Kissing, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Post-Episode: s12e05 Fugitive of the Judoon, Time Lord Telepathy (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/river_of_words/pseuds/river_of_words
Summary: Thirteen waltzes into Missy's Vault drunk off her ass on ginger humbugs. This goes about as well as you'd imagine.Set just after Fugitive of the Judoon (or just after Praxeus, seeing as canonically that happens right after, the difference doesn't really matter here) and just before series 10 for Missy.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 26
Kudos: 66





	What do I do with this?

Missy gets startled one evening by noises outside of someone clumsily trying to open the Vault. After three warnings by the alarm system that the passcode is wrong, she decides to intervene.

“Do you need some help?”

“No!” comes the muffled, grumpy, response.

“Just don’t want to get blown up. Or whatever happens to this place when you get the password wrong one time too many.”

Missy doesn’t quite catch the disgruntled muttering she gets offered in reply but the door beeps and opens and oh– She blinks. “Hello.”

The Doctor, the _new_ Doctor, has a fight with the doors to get them closed again. Missy watches her from her spot decidedly _not_ inside the containment field, trying not to laugh. At last the doors fall shut and the Doctor faces Missy. Approximately. She seems to be having a little trouble focusing.

Missy closes the book in her lap. “You’re new.”

“Hhhello,” the Doctor says uncertainly, like she’s guessing at whether that’s the right thing to be saying.

“Yes, I already said that.”

“I know!” the Doctor says indignantly, dropping into a chair, almost managing to make it look like she meant to, paper bag crinkling in her hand. “That’s– That’s why– I’m saying hello back.”

Missy looks her over. They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, don’t they? At least she won’t have to look up anymore, that’s nice. The hair is new, different. Clothes are still stupid - and honestly a bit risqué - but what do you expect. The look in her eyes is discomforting.

“Are you alright?” Missy asks.

“ _Yes!_ ” comes the immediate and blatant lie. “Did the–” she waves her free hand around. “Did the Tardis wrong, _steered!_ wrong–” Her not meeting Missy’s eyes is deliberate now. “Landed here instead of– where I was... going...” she trails off, staring into space, and then blinks and perks up again. “You know me, can’t drive, Graham’s always complaining.”

Missy hums noncommittally. As if she should know who the hell this Graham is. “Especially drunk.”

“Hey I’m not–“

Missy rolls her eyes and gets up to see what’s in the paper bag.

“Okay maybe I am a little bit but– Oi! Give back!”

“Sweets! Classy.”

The Doctor protests when Missy puts her hand in the bag.

“Sharing is caring,” Missy says primly, stepping out the Doctor’s reach.

The Doctor considers and then nods solemnly. “’s True. That! is true.”

The inside of the bag is disgustingly warm and sticky but Missy takes a sweet anyway. Whatever this conversation is, she’s not doing it sober.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” she asks, dropping back in her chair. “Haven’t you got any other friends you can bother?”

“They’re busy,” the Doctor mutters, gesturing for the bag back.

“So, did you dig out the ginger because you felt abandoned or did you dump them somewhere specifically to throw yourself a pity party?”

The Doctor scoffs. “I did _not_ do that.” She pauses, trying to parse Missy’s sentence, her mouth having been faster than her brain. “Either, either of those, didn’t do that.”

 _Who are you lying for?_ Missy thinks as she throws the Doctor a skeptical look.

“I didn’t!” she insists, reaching for the bag again. Missy lets her have it.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“Shut up,” the Doctor mumbles, digging around in her almost-empty bag of drugs, sitting in a part of her life that clearly has been over for a while, so lonely she felt the need to revisit a memory of friendship to have someone to talk to.

“I’m just saying, showing up drunk at your ex’s house in–”

She turns to Missy at once, pointing a finger. “You are NOT–”

“And this is not my house,” Missy cuts her off impassively, impatiently, holding her gaze. The Doctor glares at her for a few seconds and then sighs and looks away.

“I was mean,” she mumbles at the floor.

Missy snorts. “That’s nothing new, dear.”

“Nonono,” the Doctor shakes her head. “Not to my friends. I’m not mean to my friends.”

Missy gestures for the bag of sweets back. “What are these called again?”

“I’m not mean to my friends,” the Doctor insists.

Missy picks out one of the last sweets that hasn’t molten into the sticky mass at the bottom of the bag. “Guess I’m not a good judge of what’s mean and what isn’t,” she mutters.

“No,” the Doctor says, so automatic and unconscious an agreement that it hurts a lot more than if she had meant it as a deliberate insult. “But I am, and I was, I was mean to them, I hurt them, I didn’t mean to, I just- I’m just so...” she trails off, meeting Missy’s eyes.

“Copycat,” Missy whispers softly.

The Doctor inhales sharply and struggles up out of the chair. She wanders around, trailing her fingers along the walls, hiding her face. Missy watches her, indulging herself in a Doctor that isn’t putting conditions on their company, for once.

“Did you like it here?” the Doctor asks after a while. “I never asked.”

“Bit inconsequential, isn’t it?”

The Doctor hums. Missy isn’t sure whether that’s meant to be in question or agreement, so she clarifies. “Whether I like it or not.”

“Suppose,” the Doctor says slowly. She looks up. “But did you?”

“You crossed your timeline just to ask me this? Why not ask the me that’s temporally synchronous with you?”

The Doctor shakes her head. “You wouldn’t tell me.”

“You’ve asked?”

The Doctor turns slightly sharper. “There hasn’t _exactly_ been a lot of time for friendly conversation.”

“I’ve been busy, have I?” Missy asks, smirking.

The Doctor looks unhappy about it. “You could say that.” Her sticky fingers pick up a brush from Missy’s dresser. Missy stands up.

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“Why?” The Doctor looks back at her, narrowing her eyes. “Because you’re hiding something?”

Missy scoffs to dismiss the way the distrust still stings. How far is this Doctor in her future? She walks over and snatches the brush out of the Doctor’s hands. “No. Because it’s _my stuff._ ” And all that you deemed _acceptable_ for me to have. “And your hands are dirty and now you’ve made my brush all sticky.”

“’Kay,” the Doctor mumbles. “Sorry.” She wanders away again, presses her face to the fake windows, trying to look outside.

“So you let me out eventually?” Missy starts tentatively, watching the Doctor from the other side of the room.

“What?” The Doctor looks up.

“I’m not in the Vault anymore at your point in the timeline.”

“No. No, you are not.”

“I’m assuming we didn’t make it the whole millennium?”

“No, we didn’t.”

Missy grins. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know.” The Doctor shakes her head slowly. “What time is it?”

“Date, you mean.”

The Doctor shrugs.

“June 2016, I think. Don’t know exactly.”

“Not long then.” The Doctor drops down on Missy’s bed like it’s hers. Missy walks over slowly, not entirely sure of where she stands. Of where they're going.

“Your Gallifreyan sucks.”

The Doctor groans. “Thanks.”

“You rarely even bother with it.”

“Your point?”

“Your syntax is messed up and you’re using tenses like in English.”

“So?”

“You sound like a human.”

The Doctor sits up, surprisingly fierce. “I’m not human.”

Missy raises her eyebrows. “Careful, or you’ll sound like me.”

The Doctor shrugs uncomfortably. “Well, I’m not. _We’re_ not.”

Missy looks at her sitting there, in her human clothes, in this human place, with her human thoughts shaped by human language. Still, they’ve never looked even remotely human to Missy. They’ve never even looked all that Gallifreyan. Alien misfit wherever they go. She sits down next to the Doctor on the bed.

“Why were you mean to them?”

The Doctor sighs and says, reluctantly and also like she’s been waiting for this, like this is what all this is about, “I met myself.”

Missy keeps still, waiting for the rest of the story.

“She didn’t know me.”

Missy frowns. “You’ve never been a woman before.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

“Wait,” she turns to the Doctor. “That’s not possible.”

The Doctor looks at her, something small, scared and desperate in her eyes, clinging to Missy for answers. “I know. I _know_ it’s not possible, it can’t be.”

Missy doesn’t have any answers to give. “She forgot you?”

“She forgot me, or–” _I forgot her._ “But I _know_ my past. I do.” She looks at Missy for confirmation. When Missy doesn’t provide, she insists, “And you do too! You know I’ve never been a woman before!”

Missy nods slowly.

“So she can’t be my past! It– She can’t. Right? She can’t.” She lies back down on the bed. “She _can’t_.”

Missy swallows. “Your past is long though.” She lies down next to the Doctor. “Something might have slipped your m–”

“Not a whole regeneration!” _Or more than one_ , is the unspoken thought hanging between them. “She can’t be me,” the Doctor mutters, like saying it enough is going to make it true.

Missy finds the Doctor’s hand, nudges it, expecting the Doctor to pull away. She doesn’t, so Missy presses her luck, weaves their fingers together.

“How– Where did you meet this other Doctor?”

The Doctor shakes her head, her hand wriggling in Missy’s, not trying to get away, just looking for something solid, certain. Missy squeezes softly.

“She was a– She used the chameleon arch, she was human. She was living as a human.” She turns her head to look at Missy, eyes meeting eyes seeing the same memory in the space between them. “They were looking for her.”

Missy’s stomach sinks. “What do they want with you now?”

“I don’t–“ The Doctor groans in despair and pulls Missy up from the bed, letting go of her hand.

“Wh– what are you doing?”

She pulls back the cover, shrugs off her coat and drops it on the floor, kicks off her shoes and gets in the bed, pulling the covers over her head.

“Oh, you’re just gonna hide under the– under _my_ covers! Is that what you’re gonna do?”

A single hand pokes out from under the covers, beckoning. Missy rolls her eyes and starts taking off her shoes.

“Gimme the ginger!” comes the muffled demand from under the blankets.

“Needy brat,” Missy mutters.

“What do they say about pots and kettles?”

“That they make excellent weapons in a pinch!” Missy yells from the other side of the room as she grabs the paper bag.

“I do not approve,” the Doctor says as Missy gets under the covers with her. “Just for the record.”

“Who’s recording?” Missy whispers. The Doctor grins.

It’s too hot under the covers but it feels like a secret, a guilty pleasure that neither wants to stop, so they stay.

The Doctor blows a few stray strands of hair away from her face. Missy closes her eyes to the gentle wind being blown in her face.

“Does that hurt?” the Doctor asks.

Missy opens her eyes, frowning. “What?”

“Your hair. It’s all... complicated.”

Missy tries not to smile. “Didn’t realise you noticed.”

“Yaz has her hair all complicated too. Not like you, different. Because she’s police, you know? It’s practical. But she likes to take it all down at the end of the day. Says it feels good.”

Missy looks at the Doctor’s innocent clueless stupid face and feels like all the good parts of childhood. The safety and security of hiding under the covers with your best friend, like the world can’t touch you because if we can’t see them, they can’t see us. The excitement and elation of ‘can we do this? will this ruin everything?’. It’s not real. They’re not children and everything has already been ruined. But they can pretend. For a little while. Missy is going to pretend.

“It doesn’t hurt. As such. But it does feel nice to take it out.”

“Want me to take it out for you?” the Doctor talks over her, words tripping over each other. Missy grins.

“Why not.”

They sit up, blanket falling away, and move around on the bed until the Doctor is sitting cross-legged behind Missy. Missy grabs the paper bag and swings it hard against the bedframe. The Doctor startles and swears.

“What was that for!”

“It was all one big chunk! I’m breaking it into smaller pieces!”

Missy gets a punch in the shoulder for her trouble. “Give me a warning next time.”

She holds up a piece as peace offering. “Want one?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They settle in, the Doctor searching for pins and elastics in Missy’s hair while demanding a new piece of candy every so often. The emptier the bag gets, the more reasons they find to touch each other. The Doctor leaning into Missy’s back under the guise of looking for the last lost pin, Missy guiding the Doctor’s hand to the pin she can definitely still feel sitting in her hair. Definitely.

Bad decisions fill the air around them but the ginger makes them taste so sweet.

“Was that the last one?” the Doctor asks, running both her hands through Missy’s hair for the ninth time. “Have we got them all now?”

Missy rattles the pins they’ve collected in her hand. “I think so.”

“How many is that?”

“Too many.”

“Too many!” The Doctor laughs and leans her head on Missy’s shoulder and Missy relishes the way the ginger has vanished the Doctor's mile-high walls. Missy's as drunk on the uninhibited affection as the ginger and the giggles bubbling in her chest have sharp hearts but she won’t allow them to turn into tears. This sweetness doesn’t need any bitter.

She turns around. “You know, you can do nice things with your hair too now.”

“I don’t have time for a million pins!”

“You don’t have the patience.”

“That's what I said.” The Doctor cocks her head teasingly. “It does get in my face a lot, though.” She blows it away in demonstration.

“You could ask – Yaz, was it?” The Doctor beams. “You could ask Yaz to show you how to do her police hairstyles.”

“Maybe,” the Doctor says slowly. Then she smiles. “Maybe I will do that! But I’m not with Yaz now.” She holds up her hand. Missy crumples the empy bag.

“We’re out.”

The Doctor pouts.

Missy shrugs. “Probably for the best.”

“You can lie down now,” the Doctor says with their usual lack of subtlety, holding up the blanket.

Missy is aware that she’s failing very hard at not smiling. “Oh, you got a million pins out of my hair just to get me into bed with you?”

“Yes,” the Doctor says, lifting her chin a little.

“Do you do that for all the girls?”

“No, just you,” the Doctor says with their usual overconfident irresistible charm. The charm that makes silly hapless little Earth girls walk into their Tardis without any regard for their own lives and safety. The charm that says ‘all of time and space, where do you want to start?’.

Missy doesn’t need all of time and space. Has all the time and space she wants at her disposal, if she so chooses. She just wants the Doctor to see her, to hear her, to look at her like that. Like it’s me and you against the universe, against expectations, against the rules. Me and you. That's all she needs.

This no-strings-attached Doctor showering her in affection because she’s lonely and drunk, is catnip. It’s a beautiful, beautiful lie. Fed and nurtured by both of them indulging in things they can’t have, things that aren’t theirs. Stealing a little bit of each other’s time from under their own noses. It’s ill-advised and irresponsible and useless. The neglected truth lying underneath will be ugly when this glamour breaks.

“Probably,” the Doctor whispers, leaning forward, eyes glimmering. “Since when do we care?”

They shimmy under the covers again, face to face, finding each other's hands like if they hold on tightly enough Gallifrey and the Time Lords and Time and the Universe won’t be able to find them.

Missy watches the Doctor’s wide eyes glitter in the dim darkness until their chests go up and down in synchrony and their thoughts are melting together.

“We were friends, weren’t we?” the Doctor whispers gingerly, like she’s trying not to break something.

“Yes,” Missy says, unafraid of breaking anything because this between them is not a fragile thing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Missy says simply.

The Doctor smiles. Bright and dopey and very not sober.

“This was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Are you going to talk properly or am I just going to have to keep guessing at what you mean?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Missy sighs. “I didn’t,” she says, adopting the Doctor’s weird messed up tense that she had used to ask the question instead of the regular Gallifreyan tense indicating the differing chronology of two people involved in an event. “I didn’t like it here, most of the time.” She swallows and then adds, “I _don’t_.”

“Then why did you stay?” the Doctor whispers with big round shiny eyes.

The question, the genuine bafflement, cleaves Missy’s hearts in four. They really don’t know. Still. After all this time. The anger in her veins warms her. She opens her mouth to respond but finds herself wordless.

The Doctor, holding both of Missy's hands in hers, brings them to her face and kisses both. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Both things can be true at the same time,” the Doctor whispers, moving closer until Missy goes cross-eyed watching her. “I’m going to kiss you now if you don’t mind.”

Missy’s eyes flutter closed. “Please do.”

The Doctor is warm and soft and incredibly clumsy, like she’s grown extra arms for the express purpose of bruising Missy’s internal organs by smashing her elbows into them.

Missy pushes the Doctor onto her back, only opening her eyes long enough to see the Doctor’s startled look.

“I’ll show you,” she whispers.

When she kisses the Doctor, their thoughts intermingle like a blood oath and _S E L F I S H_ drenches them like a bucket of cold water.

“Shut up,” whispers the Doctor into Missy’s mouth.

“Not me,” she whispers back, kissing harder to prove it.

“Is too.”

“Having a morality crisis at inopportune moments is _your_ MO.”

“Why do you feel so guilty then.”

“That’s you. I don’t do guilt. I love being–”

_S E L F I S H_

again echoes through their safe little hiding place under the blankets in the place outside of time that nobody but them knows exists. Missy groans.

“I don’t _care_ ,” the Doctor whispers, more to the universe than Missy. “I don’t care. Go away.” She turns sideways so Missy drops off of her and, eyes still closed, takes her face in both hands, pulls her close, presses their faces together. The Doctor’s next thought finds its way of least resistance out through Missy’s mouth, murmuring, “Let me have this.”

Having said it, Missy finds she agrees. “ _Let me have this,_ ” she says as she takes the Doctor’s face in her hands.

“Let me have this,” the Doctor whispers hoarsely as she kisses Missy again.

“Let me have this,” Missy begs as she kisses the Doctor back.

_S E L F I S H_

“Let us have this.”

They don’t know who they’re asking.

“The universe,” the Doctor offers,

“Ourselves,” Missy is pretty sure,

but to whoever is listening: “Let us have this, _please_.”

The Doctor is here and close and open and unreserved and she _wants Missy_.

Missy is here and close and honest and trying and it’s not a trick, _it’s not a lie_.

They’re here and safe and familiar and together and they feel like **_home._**

**_H O M E_ **

The beautiful lie cracks over the inferno of the ugly, neglected truth underneath. The Doctor scrambles away, closing her mind like a rickety wooden door where light still falls through the cracks, orange smoke drifting through the hinges. Her hand is at Missy’s temple like a reflex, cold. Missy grabs her wrist, pushing her nails into soft skin like jaws snapping shut, and hisses, “I’ll break your fingers.”

The Doctor leans away as far as she can with her hand taken hostage, shaking her head like she’s trying to throw Missy off.

“You can’t see, you can’t see that.”

“You wouldn’t have come if you believed that.”

“Impaired judgement.”

“I know.” She sits up on her knees, pulling the Doctor up with her. “Show me.”

“Nuh-uh. No.”

“Not a request.” She presses their heads together. “Stop your moaning, I can’t see anything over your loud self-blaming.”

“You shouldn’t see this,” the Doctor whines.

Missy moves some thoughts around in the Doctor’s head and the Doctor lets her with a resignation bordering on relief. She closes her eyes, relives the burning as Missy sees it. She opens her eyes when Missy breaks them apart, eyes wide.

“What happens?”

The Doctor opens her mouth but falters, face open and apologetic.

Missy draws back. “No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

The Doctor has nothing to offer but helpless silence.

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“How long have you known?”

“Weeks, months, I don’t know, does it matter?”

“Yes!” Missy’s voice cracks. “Of course it matters!”

The Doctor looks at her in shock. “I– I didn’t think you cared,” she stammers.

“Why–“ Missy shakes her head, feeling like the ground has disappeared, like she’s falling without direction, in every direction at once. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

“You did it!”

“WILL!” She gets off the bed, trembling, pacing. “I WILL do it.”

“And you WON’T care!” the Doctor insists.

“You’re wrong.”

The Doctor laughs bitterly. “I’ve already had this conversation once this week, I didn’t come here to have it again.”

“Why _did_ you come here?” Missy asks, circling back, leaning on the bed, getting in the Doctor’s face. The Doctor freezes. Not like a deer in the headlights, like a cat before the jump. Listening, alert, coiled. Tail swishing. Missy can see the answer to her question bouncing around behind the Doctor's eyes. She knows. She just doesn’t want to admit it.

“ _Why,_ ” Missy asks again.

The Doctor turns away, hides her face, her motivations, her feelings. She grabs around on the floor for her coat and shoes which, unfortunately for her, are on Missy’s side of the bed.

“I’m leaving.”

“ _Running_ ,” Missy sneers.

“So what?” she swirls around, facing Missy. “I can leave whenever I want.”

“ _You_ can.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh, you certainly do, don’t you.”

“I didn’t _have_ to come here.”

“So why _did_ you?”

They stand on opposite sides of the bed, glaring at each other, breathing heavily air that has turned to anger when they weren’t looking for a second. The Doctor is the first to admit defeat. She shakes her head, deflating.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t–”

“WHY?” Missy demands, agitated. “Why isn’t this real? Are you not you? Am I not me? Does the time really matter? Has it ever– Have we ever been any different than this?”

The Doctor shifts her weight, leaning forward, pointing at Missy. “You _._ Here. Now. Is different than you in a year.” She searches Missy’s eyes for understanding. Missy laughs.

“And you aren’t?!” She points at the doors. “Tomorrow you’re going to walk in those _stupid_ doors, asking me to get in the containment field first like I’m a wild animal, like I haven’t been here for SEVENTY YEARS, like I’m still going to try and escape _now_ , and you’re going to teach me some _stupid_ lessons about–” she makes air quotes, “–‘goodness’ and ‘virtues’ that we BOTH know are pointless! And I’m going to try and learn them _anyway._ ” She pauses, breathing heavily, searching for some understanding back. “I’m going to learn them ANYWAY! Why can’t you give me–” she turns away abruptly, swiping a sleeve over her face like there aren’t any tears, sharp giggles slicing open her chest and laying her hearts bare for the world to see. For _her_ world to see. She turns back to face the world, eyes dark and furious.

“Why can’t you do the same for me?” she spits, the question bitter on her tongue. “I don’t ask for much! I’ve never asked you for as much as you ask of me!” Her voice is broken like the rest of her. “Why am I _conditional_ to you? You’re not to me!”

The Doctor has sunk back on the bed, listening silently, eyes filled with tears.

“Just SAY IT! Just ADMIT why you’re here!”

She shakes her head.

“ _Fine,_ ” Missy snarls. “ _Fine._ I _hate_ you.” She jumps on the bed, on her knees right in front of the Doctor. “ _I hate you._ ”

The Doctor blinks, making tears fall. “I don’t hate you,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Maybe you should _try_ a little _harder_ ,” Missy hisses through barely contained fury.

* * *

“Thanks for stopping by,” Missy says once the dust has settled and they’re standing in front of the doors. Sobered by anger and mellowed by silence. “See you tomorrow.” She meant derision but the residue of ginger and disappointment left on her tongue make the words taste bittersweet.

The Doctor doesn’t flinch. “I miss you.”

“Let me out then.” It’s a question more than an attack.

The Doctor nods. “Yes, that’s why I will.” She looks apologetic. “Just a bit more patience.”

“That's one I could teach _you_.” Missy presses the empty paper bag into the Doctor’s hands. “Take your rubbish with you, I’m not having you get me in trouble.”

The Doctor looks at their hands together and then slowly crumples the bag and puts it in her pocket. She looks up at Missy.

“Thank you.”

“You’re good at that.”

“What?”

“Pretty lies.”

The Doctor bites her lip, considering, thinking. “I’m sorry, then,” she tries.

Missy's expression hurts a bit too much to be a smile. “There’s another one.”

The Doctor scoffs softly, equally annoyed with herself as with Missy. She looks at the ceiling, in exasperation at first but then she turns pensive. She looks back at Missy, studying her face like she’s committing it to memory. Like she’s committing this moment to memory. Missy lets her, because she’s doing the same. Eventually the Doctor nods to herself and takes a deep breath.

“Last try?” she requests.

“Third time’s the charm,” Missy accedes.

The Doctor nods slowly, eyes still locked with Missy’s. “Can I kiss you?”

Missy bites back a smile. The Doctor doesn’t deserve it. Missy’s hearts are still open on display, throbbing and bleeding. But, “Sure,” she says. “For old times’ sake.”

“For old times’ sake,” the Doctor whispers, and takes Missy’s face in her hands. She kisses her like all the things she can’t say right. Missy will take what she can get.

When they break apart and the Doctor turns to the doors, her eyes linger on Missy. They stay on Missy as she pulls the door open, and Missy feels timelines shuffle around them. The Doctor looking for possibilities, options, other ways. Missy shakes her head and tears spring in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Okay,” she whispers. Acceptance. “Bye then.”

“Bye,” Missy says.

“See ya.”

The doors fall shut with a resounding finality.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry that it's been so long since i posted anything (dont know if anyone cares about that but i do, so) ive been writing this double fic, one with the master and missy meeting and one with 10 and 13 meeting and theyre not even that long but it's just taking a lot of brain power and going very slowly. 
> 
> i really needed the dopamine of finishing something again (and of comments, lets be honest) so i just wrote this real quick as a snack. 
> 
> i thought it was gonna be angsty and then for a hot second i was like 'oh maybe im actually making a point about their characters here?' but then i abandoned that very quickly in favour of turning it INCREDIBLY GAY. i was listening to vienna teng's 'stray italian greyhound' on repeat, which might have had something to do with the direction this fic went. it's also what the title is from.
> 
> is it in character? debatable (im just gonna blame the ginger) but i made 13 and missy kiss so does it really matter?  
> also! made myself cry! repeatedly! so thats a new achievement
> 
> oh and i stole that 'we were friends, what happened - nothing' interaction from a deleted bit of the 9x1 script because i think they are AMAZING lines and im forever sad they werent in the episode
> 
> oh and 'you're beautiful' is a callback to 10 saying to the master 'you could be beautiful' just wanted you to know that. just wanted you to know that the doctor here still doesnt Get It that missy's just doing it for them.
> 
> let me know what you thought!


End file.
